


The Interview

by ikkiM



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 17:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15005681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM
Summary: A locker room, a microphone and a towel.





	The Interview

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GumTree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GumTree/gifts), [Julieoftarth (Wherethereissmoak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wherethereissmoak/gifts), [hardlyfatal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlyfatal/gifts).



> For my sweet GumTree, Julieoftarth and hardlyfatal. Lovely, classy, wonderful women.

Brienne Tarth groaned. While she loved being a sports reporter, she hated being sent into men’s locker rooms for post-game interviews. Because of her looks and athleticism, most people assumed she was a lesbian. For those same reasons, men didn’t mind having her in their locker rooms. They were certain she wasn’t looking and wasn’t interested, and none of them were interested in her, either.

She _didn’t_ look and she _wasn’t_ interested. Well, not really _interested_ interested. That would imply she had a realistic chance, which she didn’t. But she couldn’t help looking at Jaime Lannister. She didn’t know how any sane heterosexual woman would _not_ look at Jaime Lannister. Even covered in sweat and dirt, he looked like half a god. His ego was godlike as well. No one liked Jaime Lannister as much as he liked himself.

Unfortunately, Brienne couldn’t deny that Jaime had earned that ego. He was a spectacular athlete, possessing incredible natural talent, but he still put in as much or more work as his teammates. While he might grace the covers of Lords’ Quarterly and WesterMen’s Health, his attendance at celebrity functions was rare. When he did attend, he was rumored not to imbibe at all. He was more likely to be found at the gym, on the field, or much to Brienne’s irritation, at charity functions for children. Jaime Lannister may be an egotistical asshole, but he was also giving, and caring, and godsdammit, really nice to orphans.

Those things made it impossible for Brienne to hate him. Not that he seemed to care. In fact, she wondered if it were his goal to make her hate him. Each time she tried to interview him, he’d made some comment about her, initially questioning her gender and asking her to prove it, then moving on to question her sexuality.

In the past year, Jaime had begun asking about Brienne’s own physical prowess. _Why had she stopped competing? How much could she dead lift? What was her best marathon time?_ It was almost as if _he_ were trying to interview _her_.

Now she was once again being sent into the locker room to debrief Jaime Lannister. _Interview,_ Brienne corrected herself, _not debrief._ She flushed at the thought of Jaime in only his briefs, then shook her head. She needed to focus. This was not going to be easy. Jaime’s team had just lost based on a controversial no-foul call after Gregor Clegane had clearly tripped Loras Tyrell; it was more like being sent into the lion’s den. Jaime was certain to be angry and likely to take it out on her.

The problem was that the public loved their “banter.” Brienne’s interviews with Jaime were the highest-rated portions of the WesterSports News broadcasts. There were 3ERtube video compilations of Jaime’s questions and Brienne’s facial expressions. There was no way for her to get out of it.

Brienne made her way through the locker room, with her cameraman, Podrick, in tow, sending sympathetic looks to Jaime’s teammates along the way to Jaime’s locker. When she arrived, the locker was open, and his dirty uniform was on the floor. That meant he was in the shower. After positioning herself and signaling Pod to set up the shot, Brienne closed her eyes and prayed to the Seven that he wouldn’t come walking out naked. She’d seen him once and had been almost completely unable to function. Jaime Lannister was so very _male_.

“Contacts bothering you?” Jaime asked.

Brienne jumped at the sound of his voice, and her eyes flew open.  He was standing right beside her, thankfully wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. She scowled at him, “How many times do I have to tell you that I _don’t wear contacts_?”

Jaime gave her a grin. “Eyes that blue aren’t natural, Scoop.”

Brienne gritted her teeth at the nickname. She grabbed her microphone and nodded at Pod to start the camera. “Brienne Tarth here in the Lannisport locker room with Jaime Lannister. So, Jaime, tough loss today?”

He looked at her with a flat, bored stare. “Yes.”

She could tell he wasn’t going to make it easy. “What did you think about Clegane’s hit on Tyrell?”

Jaime reached for his deodorant, raised one arm and sprayed. “I think it was dirty. I think the Commissioner needs to fine and suspend him.” He shook the can and switched it to the other hand, raising his other arm for a spray, this time being sure to hit Brienne with a fine mist.

She coughed.

He grinned.

“This loss means you have to win next week in order to make the playoffs. What do you think of your chances?”

Jaime rolled his eyes. Brienne grimaced. It was a lame question. She _knew_ it was a lame question. Considering the other team hadn’t won a game all season, Jaime’s team was sure to win.

“Well, Scoop,” he began, “no matter an opponent’s win/loss record, we always prepare. We will be ready to go next week and just hope to play our best.”

It was a terrible and boring answer and he knew it, but it was no better than the question deserved. Jaime was now running his fingers through his damp hair, and she was momentarily flummoxed by the sight of him, golden skin, broad chest, the flex of muscles in his shoulders.

Pod cleared his throat, indicating she should go on, but all she could think was that she wanted to run her fingers through his hair.

Jaime turned to her and looked her right in the eye. She felt her entire body flush.

“How about this, Scoop?” he began, his voice low and husky and sending a tingle down her spine. “If we make the playoffs, you go to dinner with me?”

Brienne flushed, then realized what he was doing and growled, “I’ll not be mocked by the likes of you, Jaime Lannister.”

He turned so he was facing her and crossed his arms over his chest. “I am _not_ mocking you.”

She stepped closer so she could look down on him. He was tall, but she was slightly taller and she wasn’t above using her height to intimidate. She thrust her microphone in his face. “Then tell us, what exactly _are_ you doing?”

Jaime grabbed her hand and spoke clearly and directly into the mic. “I am trying to ask you out on a date.”

Nothing could have shocked her more. She spluttered. She blinked. She looked at him in confusion. She searched his face for some hint that this was a joke. “But you don’t even _like_ me.”

“Yes. I. Do,” Jaime responded.

At the sound of Podrick’s strangled cough, they both turned to look at him.

“What?” Brienne snapped and then instantly regretted it. It wasn’t Podrick’s fault that Jaime Lannister was a lying jackass.

“I think he does,” Pod responded and lowered the lens of the camera.

Brienne’s eyes instinctively tracked Pod’s shot, and that’s when she noticed that there was something underneath Jaime Lannister’s bath towel, and it was pointing directly at her.

Her eyes widened and she looked up at Jaime, who was looking down at himself, muttering, “It’s those godsdamn blue eyes.”

In that instant, she remembered they were broadcasting live.

  



End file.
